


Blackmail Bingo

by ThisShitMakesMeHard (Face_of_Poe)



Category: Justified
Genre: Because I have literally no idea, M/M, Post Season 4, Scrabble, We'll just call this a crackfic, With hints of dubcon, s05ep04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/ThisShitMakesMeHard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Boyd is a bit unhinged and thinks he has something on Tim, Tim is a smartass and just wants to fuck with Boyd, and just what were Boyd and Raylan doing in those coal mines anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackmail Bingo

**Author's Note:**

> Probably a good bit darker than I made it sound.

“I see Raylan passed along my message.” Tim stood in the entry of the bar, hand resting on his holster, taking in the muted scene. “I was starting to think he forgot.” It was midday, and the bar sported only three customers. A pair of men, probably in their thirties and alike enough in appearance and country dress that they might be brothers, sat at a table up close to the front of the room. An older man sat drinking alone at the bar. None paid Tim’s entrance much mind, or only shot a cursory look at Boyd when he spoke, calling across the room.

Tim moved into the space slowly, eyes still sweeping the corners, and then watching Boyd’s man Jimmy come out of the back hallway with a crate of bottles in hand. “Message? Naw, I’m just here for a drink.”

“And I didn’t think you were the type to partake on duty, Deputy Gutterson.”

He picked a spot in the corner opposite the entrance where he could best watch the door and all the patrons, then stared expectantly at Boyd. Bright, sharp teeth were flashing, the smile more predatory than entertained. “It’s Saturday, dipshit.”

“What’s your poison, then?” Boyd asked, still standing behind the bar and watching him intently.

“Something still sealed in its original packaging, I think.”

Jimmy’s brow furrowed, but he turned back to stocking at Boyd’s boisterous laugh. And then just to fuck with him, Boyd brought him a can of Dr Pepper instead of a beer. At Tim’s look and gesture, he lifted his coat and spun to demonstrate he was unarmed. Then he settled into the chair opposite and leaned his elbows on the table. “First one’s on the house.”

He flipped it open, half-expecting to find it had been shaken first. For all of his bullshit theatrics, Boyd had apparently not yet descended to the level of third grade entertainment, however. “Good barrel,” he offered blandly. Boyd’s grin widened. “At least your extortion comes with good manners.”

“Extortion?” Boyd exclaimed. “Why, Deputy, I’m beginning to wonder if Raylan passed along the right message.”

_Message_ was putting it generously. _Oh, hey, Tim – ran into Boyd a few days ago, he asked about your friend Mark? The hell is that about? Help me move this shelf, would you?_

He held up the free can of soda. “Bribery, too.”

Boyd clapped his hands together and laughed. “Ah, Deputy, you’re funny. Raylan keep you around for more than just your pretty face?”

“I like to think I bring a certain charm to the table. Not sure I’m quite his type, though.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Timothy, there was a time I imagine Raylan’d a’ taken great pleasure in that sweet mouth o’ yours.”

Tim blinked, then grinned and took a long drink from his can. “You gonna tell me what it is you’re after, or we just gonna sit here and flirt?”

“As I told Raylan – I want to know about your friend Mark.”

“Why don’t you ask your friend Colton?”

A hand struck out impossibly fast and seized his jaw in a painful grasp. “Ah ah,” Boyd warned him quietly as he tried to pull away, found the wall at his back impeding him, right hand reaching down for his gun. A quick glance from Boyd drew his attention to one of the young men at the other table with a gun leveled in his direction; Jimmy at the bar was clearly holding a shotgun out of sight.

Tim raised his hand back up to rest flat on the table, vaguely cognizant of the old man seated at the bar making a hasty retreat from the scene going quickly south. Boyd maintained his bruising grip on Tim’s face as he leaned over and plucked the gun from his holster. He placed the barrel up against Tim’s jaw and withdrew his hand to sweep it down across Tim’s back and check for a backup, coming up empty-handed.

“Well,” Tim stated blandly, “I guess there’s one question answered.” Boyd cocked a brow curiously. “You _are_ as dumb as you look.”

The cruel intensity burning behind Boyd’s dark eyes belied that assertion, but he sat back and pulled the gun away from his face. “Desperation is a far cry from stupidity, Timothy. Much more dangerous, too." 

Tim glanced pointedly around the scene. “Desperation lands you in a jail cell right beside the missus; but I guess maybe that’s the idea. Who needs conjugal?”

“You keep mouthin’ off, are you that sure I ain’t planning to shoot you and throw you in the slurry?”

“Yeah, that worked so well the last time,” Tim shot back. For good measure, he polished off his soda. “If you were in the habit of casually shooting federal officers for being a smartass, I figure Raylan’d be long dead.”

“Now, see here – I helped Raylan keep his woman safe, and that is the reason Ava is in prison,” Boyd said, deadly soft. If he noticed Tim’s brow furrowing, he ignored it. “But _you_ are the reason my friend is dead.”                                                                                                          

Tim scoffed. “And Colton is the reason _my_ friend is dead. You still haven’t told me what it is you aim to get out of this little display, Crowder; or are we just playing a round of blackmail bingo, see what sticks, get a feel for any future _angles_?” Boyd’s expression was returning to that of faux-cheer in place of the half-crazed anger. He’d revealed himself already though, as a man backed into a corner and torn between fear of losing what little he had left and just wanting to say fuck it and give up. “You want to know about Mark? He and Colton had some similar issues, were both a bit fucked up. The difference? My friend was fucked up because he nearly got his leg blown off in Afghanistan. Your friend was fucked up because _he was just a fuck-up_.”

Boyd cuffed him upside the head with the gun and sent him sprawling to the floor. From his hazy vantage point on the ground, he saw the door open and two pairs of feet step in, then hesitate. He glanced up and saw them looking uncertainly at him.

Ever the considerate host, Boyd laughed and waved them in. “Apologies, friends – Timothy here got an early start on his evening.” He was unceremoniously hauled to his feet and pointed in the direction of the darkened hallway off to the side of the bar. Out of the sight of the new customers, Boyd pressed the gun into his back. “Walk.” The eyes of the assorted gun thugs in the room followed, but none made a move to get up.

Boyd shoved him into the office at the end of the hallway and flipped on the lights. Tim looked around dully. “Is this the execution room? Does the stock room double as a torture chamber?”

“God _damn_ , son,” Boyd exclaimed, “does nothing shut you up?”

“I’ll let you know if you’re getting warm.” He was roughly pushed up against the wall, but maintained the presence of mind to keep his head from smacking too hard. “Now the way I see it, there are two possible reasons I’m here – and I say two, not three, because I really don’t think you’re stupid enough to kill me, however desperate. Unless the idea of throwing down with Raylan again really gets you off.” Black eyes flickered. “Surely you know that your sorry ass would never even make it to prison.

“Option one then, and I think this is less likely – you think you have something on me big enough that you can expect to call in a favor now and again, in exchange for silence. Option two is a more one-time shot, probably something to help Ava, which you have _got to know_ is just impossible. So what are we even doing here?”

Boyd raised the gun and pressed it to Tim’s forehead. “Maybe I do just want to see your brains spatter that wall.”

“Well, now you’re getting warm,” Tim returned drily.

Boyd huffed a soft laugh and trailed the gun down around the side of his face. “That’s how it would go down, you think?” he murmured. “Raylan come to avenge you, like you did your friend?” He pressed the gun against Tim’s mouth. “All it would take is one phone call, Ava amends her statement about Colton’s death, and the rest of your career with the Marshals dissolves in an inquiry a hell of a lot more convincing than the one that got _me_ out of prison on account of Raylan sleeping with Ava.”

Tim turned his head to the side, spoke with the barrel against his cheek. “Wait, who’s screwing who in my scenario?”

Boyd’s other hand darted out and pressed against Tim’s throat. “I am going to ruin you, Deputy, if only to shut that fucking mouth.”

“So long as you to understand that, come Monday morning when his suspension is over, Raylan is going to go to work and see my email about LPD officer Cory West being on your payroll and taking a number of calls from you in the last month.” He shrugged best he could, hand at his throat and gun at his cheek. “I _recommended_ we sit on it, keep it in our back pockets until it might prove useful, but I have to think that if Ava decided to amend her statement, Raylan would feel obligated to point out that Officer West pulled the report with my name on it about an unsolved double homicide right around the time you and he started your ardent correspondence. You think anyone’s going to believe you didn’t just _tell_ Ava what to say?” He could see the gears turning behind Boyd’s dark eyes. “I don’t go into these situations half-cocked like Raylan,” Tim informed him softly. “I do my homework.”

“Well, then. Now that we’ve both shown our hands, maybe it is option three after all.” The gun returned to the spot straight between his eyes. It took considerable effort to avoid going cross-eyed staring at it. “Raylan know you’re here?” he asked softly.

“What do _you_ think?”

“I think he’d have never let you come alone,” Boyd mused.

“Hard to say,” Tim allowed sympathetically. “Raylan does inexplicably seem to feel you still hold a certain amount of honor.” Boyd released his hold on Tim’s throat and grabbed his jaw again. “You know what I think though?” Boyd’s eyes roamed his face searchingly. “I think you lost your woman, and you lost the closest thing you’ve had to a real friend since Raylan left you behind in Harlan.” The gun pressed harder. Tim continued, undeterred. “And I think you’d dearly love to put a bullet in my brain, but you can’t stand to sever the last shred of goodwill between you and Raylan and lose him, too.”

Unbridled fury and anguish warred across Boyd’s face. “Well?” Tim asked blandly. “You gonna shoot me or not?” His uncertainly was betrayed only by nervously licking his dry lips. He caught Boyd’s eyes lingering though and he grinned broadly. “Or is there a fourth option after all? All this talk of Raylan and shutting my smart mouth got you going? That what he used to say to you when he got you on your knees?” The fury was winning out in Boyd’s expression. “Don’t get me wrong, all he’s ever said about you is that you _dug coal together_ , that was just a shot in the dark.” He paused. “Maybe a poor choice of words, I admit. You blow Raylan in a coal mine, Crowder?” he asked suspiciously. “That sounds downright un-hy-gienic.”

Boyd said nothing, and the sound of the hammer cocking was deafening in the quiet room. Tim sank slowly to his knees. With his back still against the wall, he pushed Boyd carefully a pace back to make room, eyes never leaving the coal black depths of the unhinged man with his own gun pressed to his forehead. “What’ll it be?”

After several more seconds of silence, Tim reached for Boyd’s belt. A hand fisted harshly in his hair and yanked his head back; he sat back on his heels and stared up again. “Much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, and despite how dearly I’ve love to fuck that mouth into submission,” Boyd released his grip and reached down to trace a thumb over Tim’s lower lip, “receiving sexual favors at gunpoint ain’t exactly my style.”

“Says the man threatening to shoot me in the head.”

“Well, we all gotta draw the line somewhere, son.” Tim shrugged and climbed back to his feet. “You are just full of surprises though, Deputy Gutterson.”

“Want to hear one more?” Boyd’s head tilted to the side, curious. “You’re so fucking predictable, that gun ain’t even loaded.”

When Boyd blinked down at it in surprise, Tim swung a fist and sent him sprawling to the floor with a split lip. He reached down and snatched the empty gun from Boyd’s hand and re-holstered it. As he crossed to the desk and rummaged around, coming up with Boyd’s pistol out of the top drawer, Boyd touched his bleeding lip gingerly and stood slowly. “I have to wonder just how far you were planning to go with that, Deputy.”

“It’d have been worth it to see your face if you pulled the trigger.” Tim slammed the drawer closed again. “And, you know – it’d be good to know if you were actually willing to kill me, or just planned to scare the hell out of me, but I guess the jury’s still out on that one.”

“Uh-huh,” Boyd wiped a hand across his mouth. “And, uh – the _other thing_?”

Tim considered him a moment, then smiled sardonically. “Guess we’ll find out next time business brings me to your door, Crowder.”

“Next time?” Boyd caught hold of Tim’s arm as he made to leave. He pressed him up against the door, voice murmuring low and breath hot against his ear. “You come back in here, Deputy, and I will bend you over the fucking bar. That is a goddamn promise.”

“You do that, you’ll have to listen to my smart mouth.”

 

X---X

 

Some weeks later, the hunt for Wade Messer brings Raylan and Tim to Boyd’s door. Boyd has eyes for Raylan, only Raylan, until almost off-handedly Raylan points him out. “You know Deputy Gutterson,” and Boyd finally registers his presence.

“Well, I believe we have a friend in common; or should I say _had_.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I’d call him a friend.”

“Well, I’m not sure he would, either.”

Raylan goes about his business, oblivious to the underlying tension between the other two men in the room as Tim thoroughly frisks Boyd. He’s in a hurry to get somewhere though, and Raylan delights in ruining Boyd’s day. “Tim, you mind sticking around, keeping Boyd company a minute?”

“Oh, I was hopin’.”

 

 

Two hours later, Messer is dead, Boyd is free to go wherever he was going with that shotgun, and Tim and Raylan are back in the car, contemplating how best to ruin the Crowe clan’s day instead. Raylan takes a moment to glance over and grin though, and asks, “Scrabble, huh? Bet Boyd kicked your ass.”

“Pretty sure he made some of those words up.”

“He behave himself while I was gone?”

Tim leans back leisurely in his seat. “Mostly. Started to get feisty, but then I blew him on the bar and he settled right down.”

Raylan chokes on air and nearly rear-ends a car at a stop sign. Recovering quickly, he shoots a sly look sideways. “What, and he didn’t get you back? That’s downright rude.”

“Like I want those fucking teeth anywhere near my dick.”

“’Least it woulda shut him up for a few minutes.”

Tim just looks out the window and smiles to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that went somewhere unexpected, and I'll never watch the Scrabble scene the same.


End file.
